Nightmares in Waking
by Anla'shok Ivanova
Summary: Londo Mollari broods on the hand fate has dealt him or the hand he's dealt himself around about the time of "The Fall of Centauri Prime"


Disclaimer: Babylon 5 and its characters don't belong   
to me. Londo Mollari and the others mentioned all   
belong to J. Michael Straczynski, and my amateur   
efforts probably can't do justice to his work. But I   
do try. :)  
  
Author's note: Londo may be just a little out of   
character here, but I've done my best to capture some   
of what his thoughts might be, circa "The Fall of   
Centauri Prime". So this has spoilers for that, and   
vague spoilers for a lot of stuff that took place   
before it.   
  
"Nightmares in Waking"  
by Christine Anderson  
alias Elayne Trakand  
  
It is another dark moment, too much like the one when   
I at last came to understand what the Regent had   
done- and, perhaps more importantly, /why/ he had   
done it. When I am allowed to close my eyes, I can   
still see those jump points forming, dozens of them   
in the skies of Centauri Prime.  
  
I sit upon the throne I never wanted, the one I want   
even less now, and I do not sit straight and look out   
upon the world before me as a Centauri Emperor   
should- I slouch, one arm upon the armrest, my chin   
in my hands. I brood now in ways I never did even   
when things were at their worst back on Babylon 5. I   
long for those days.  
  
For those days, for my freedom- and since I can have   
neither of those things, I long very much for a   
drink. But when I am free to take one, I find that I   
do not want it. Perhaps there is a part of me that   
knows it will do nothing to dull the pain of any of   
this. /They/ will not allow that.  
  
How little thought we gave to some things, while we   
still had a chance to make a preemptive strike. The   
Drakh served the Shadows. We knew that, of course,   
but I do not think that anyone really grasped that   
fact. The Shadows were insidious; they did terrible   
things in the darkness, things you would never see   
coming until it was almost too late, if then. The   
Drakh are not the Shadows, but they learned from   
those whom they called masters- and they are fools   
not to have seen it.  
  
I, of course, have a much changed perspective on   
things now- now that I am no longer free to tell them   
/anything/ but what the Drakh wish me to, I can think   
whatever I please. My inability to divulge this   
knowledge I have gained amuses them, as it amused   
them to watch me walk away from them for the last   
time of my own free will, when I said my last   
goodbyes to G'Kar. Oh, the irony of that! That /he/   
was there, and I could not speak a word of what I'd   
learned from the Drakh, from the Regent, because if I   
had, they would simply have killed him. I could have   
taken the chance, once- if his life meant nothing to   
me. But it does, now, and the attempt would have been   
futile in any case.  
  
I delivered to Sheridan and Delenn the instrument of   
the Drakh's revenge, a thing which would have made   
even the Shadows proud. The thought of it sitting   
there now, upon their shelf, might cause me a shudder   
or at least a cringe, if I were allowed it.  
  
I am not allowed much. They put words into my mouth   
and I speak them, and sometimes they will let loose   
their choke hold long enough for me to make a   
gesture, take a step, say a word in my own voice.   
Just enough to give me a taste of freedom before they   
snatch it away. Even when they give me their   
'rewards', these hours and moments 'free' of them,   
they watch, and they wait... I could not, even then,   
call anyone, nor speak the truth if and when I   
reached them.  
  
My pride was the first thing to be sacrificed in all   
of this, I think. Outwardly, I am still Centauri-   
arrogant, proud, sure of myself. But within,   
everything is different, and if I could ask for their   
help- if I could /beg/ for their help, /plead/ for   
it, throw myself at Sheridan's feet and cry out that   
he must, if not save me, for I am already damned,   
somehow free the Centauri, free my people... If I   
could do any of those things, I would. But I cannot.  
  
I think back upon the dream I used to have, of G'Kar   
killing me, strangling me as I sat here upon this   
very throne, and if I could make that dream come true   
now, today, I might do that, as well. That may be   
what it takes, indeed, to free the Centauri, and for   
that- To be released from this torment and to free my   
people all at once, that I would do in an instant.  
  
The irony of wishing a /Narn/ were around to save my   
people is not lost on me, but as I believe I heard   
Mister Garibaldi say on more than one occasion,   
"We've got bigger problems."  
  
I think of them, all of them scattered now, gone   
their separate ways- Garibaldi finally having gotten   
sense enough to trade in his overindulgence in   
alcohol for a good woman- I rather miss mine, though   
am grateful she did not live to see me like this. And   
you must understand, of course, that the irony of   
this statement doesn't escape me, my own   
overindulgences being the stuff of legend, back when   
these things mattered... G'Kar, running out to the   
Rim to explore, in order to escape his peoples'   
attempts to turn him into some form of religious   
figure... Oh, how I wish that I had been on Babylon 5   
to see that! ...Lyta, who I am told has changed so   
much that I would hardly recognize her, journeying   
with him. The way she quests for what is best for   
her, the way she drives after what she wants... ah,   
she could almost be Centauri... Vir, dear Vir, who   
may not be so hopeless as I once thought, after all,   
back on Babylon 5, taking over where I left off...   
Ivanova, gone a year already now, gone after Marcus   
died, somewhere out there in the stars, in command of   
her own ship... Franklin, back to Earth to continue   
his work, a choice I thought dull, but then, Franklin   
always was that... Sheridan and Delenn, on Minbar,   
overseeing the Interstellar Alliance, a dream I wish   
more than ever to see succeed because I can no longer   
be a part of it, and the two of them, always   
together...   
  
I know that in all likelihood I will never see them   
again. Sitting at the last with Sheridan and Delenn,   
it felt like goodbye, and even if it is not, it   
should be. Anyone close to me is in danger, I know   
that. And because it amuses the Drakh to keep me from   
anything which I would enjoy, I may very well never   
be able to see my friends again, not in person.  
  
When it all began five years ago, we did not know how   
it would end. We did not know if peace were even   
possible. Now the galaxy seems to have it, but I   
think the wars have simply become internalized now.   
For some, like Garibaldi, the internal wars someday   
end. For me, they will end only when I am dead.  
  
I know that one day the Regent's fate will be mine. I   
will either die when I cease to be of use to them...   
or their presence within my thoughts, their fingers   
in my mind, will drive me mad, as the Regent was   
driven mad. /Then/ they will kill me, and another   
will be chosen, for the dual burdens of leadership of   
the Centauri, and...guidance by the Drakh. I do not   
envy whomever next leads.  
  
It is funny, in a tragic sort of way- I always   
thought that to be the Emperor must be a grand and   
yet very lonely thing. As with many things I decided   
when I was but a foolish young Centauri, I had no   
idea. I had no /idea/!  
  
It would be easy to say now that I did not know,   
either- did not know when I met the strange man   
called Morden, that it would place me on this path. I   
could say that I did not understand I was making what   
the humans would call deals with the devil. But I   
understood enough. I understood there were things I   
didn't want to know, questions I didn't want to ask.   
But not asking those questions, doesn't mean I did   
not know the answers.  
  
Listen to me now. I sound like that three-times   
damned Vorlon who used to lurk about Babylon 5,   
dispensing confusion of a sort our seeresses, mad as   
they all are, could only have dreamed about. But it   
is the truth. It is the truth I speak now- now, when   
there is no one to listen save myself.  
  
Oh, the bitter irony! If I am not killed by the   
Drakh, if I am not struck down in mercy by my old   
friends, or wiped out by the vengeance of the gods, I   
will probably suffer death by irony.  
  
I should be so lucky.  
  
Reaching for the bottle, ever-present though I seldom   
find I can gather the energy to drink from it, I   
stare for a while at its contents, before taking a   
long sip. It is the first effort to do anything I   
have made in a while. I do very little now when my   
time is my own- such as that is -because there is   
little point.  
  
I often fall to sleep here, in this throne that has   
become like a prison. Better here, where the Drakh   
must hide in shadows, then in my own private rooms,   
where they may step into the light and force me to   
look at them. It is a small thing, and it does not   
matter enough to trouble them. It is not willpower,   
is not me fighting back against them- I can't do that   
anymore, I've forgotten if ever I knew how -but it is   
the last act of defiance I have it within me to make.  
  
Now I dream again of G'Kar's hands around my throat,   
and I pray to whatever gods may still exist in this   
cursed world of mine, that this time it is real.  



End file.
